We welcome your story of Coming Out in a short story format of 300 – 700 words. You can submit your story using the Expression of Interest form on our Contribute Your Story page. You can also attach one or two photos using the form which will be added to your story. These do not qualify for any honorariums at this time. Stories must be about your Coming Out Experience in the Greater Edmonton Region.

My Coming Out Story

Everyone I know who is gay has their own personal “coming out” story about when they realized they were ‘different’—when they began to feel attracted to people of the same sex. Some knew very early in childhood. Others were confused and didn’t understand where these feelings came from or what they meant. And then there are those who continued living what seemed a so-called “normal” life—got married, had children, and maybe had an inkling, but tried to suppress their true nature. True nature cannot be suppressed.

In my case, it was a gradual process that unfolded over a number of years. In my late teens, I had satisfying relationships with girls and women. I truly fell in love and had deep feelings for them. I believed I would eventually get married, be a husband, and a father. For a long time, I thought that was the path I was destined to follow. But my true nature eventually came to the forefront.

I found myself picking up and reading anything that had to do with homosexuality. My Playboy and Penthouse magazines were replaced by a new on-the-market magazine that showed men with men with women. I read the book Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask from cover to cover—especially the section on how gay men would meet by tapping their feet in adjacent cubicles in public washrooms. This excited me.

I was in my last year of university and decided to give it a try—not to reveal which building, lol. A very attractive man and I ended up gazing at one another in the mirror above the sinks. He took me home, seduced me, and took me to bed. I was so nervous, you would have thought the bed had a built-in vibrator the way it shook!

In the following months, I saw him from time to time, just to have sex. Of course, I got quite attached, split up from my girlfriend, and wanted him in my life exclusively. He was very kind to me when he gently let me down. He saw me as a plaything, nothing else. He was going away for a holiday and told me I could stay in his apartment, as long as I did some cleaning tasks. I welcomed his offer, having lived for two years in a basement suite with no sunshine, no fresh air, and no proper shower.

He said his friend, John, who also lived in the building, had a special tool to dismantle the balcony doors for proper cleaning. John came to visit and we talked for hours—No, I didn’t see his special tool. After lengthy conversations though, he said that he would take me to a gay bar the following weekend. I was not so sure if I wanted to go. I had all these preconceptions of what a gay bar would be like and the kinds of people who would frequent such a place—drag queens, leather men, and other scary undesirables. Oh no!

The next weekend came around, and I did build up enough courage to go with John. I was absolutely terrified, and it took six rum and cokes to stop shaking. My new gay life began there—but was that really “coming out”? Now I look back at it, 50 years later—no! It takes years for a person to truly come out and to realize their true nature—not just one trip to a gay bar.

Looking back, that first trip to the gay bar was only the very beginning of a long and winding journey. Coming out is not a single moment or event—it’s a continuous process of acceptance, courage, and growth. It took me many years to truly say, “I have come out”. To embrace my true self fully and openly was not easy, but it was the most liberating and important thing I ever did. For anyone still on their own path, know that it’s okay to take your time. Your story is yours alone, and every step forward is a victory.

Bill Jenkins

Coming out at work

I’ve written thousands of words about my transition, so I’m going to focus on one aspect: coming out at work. It was a gradual process spanning several months, starting last August when I came out to myself.

I was sitting at my desk, scrolling through social media and reading blog posts (yes, it was a slow day) when I found The Webcomic. That won’t mean much unless you’re trans, but the short version is that I spent the next several days in an existential panic before confirming that I was, indeed, a transgender woman. 

I work in the office of a blue-collar shop, which is almost all men. I was terrified of revealing what I had discovered. But I’ve always gotten along well with the few women in my workplace, and one day, I came out to one of them. She was very supportive, and told me she’d always be there if I needed someone to talk to. 

Unfortunately, she left within the next month, but by that time I had told another coworker. She was also very supportive—and a year later, we still share the office.

Things moved quickly for me, and by the end of October I was on hormones. By that time, I had started painting my nails as a “soft” coming out step. But when I picked up my first prescription, I decided that I wasn’t going to hide anymore because it was so important to be visible. From that point, I would be myself. I wasn’t planning to come out formally, but I wasn’t going to hide who I was. 

And absolutely nothing happened. In everyday life, the subject of gender just doesn’t come up. With my friends, I was Violet. At work, I was that guy who was kind of different. But I felt like I was leading a double life, putting on different clothes to go out with my friends than I wore to work. It wasn’t like I could wear a dress in an industrial workplace, but I didn’t feel seen. It surprised me to realize I needed that. 

Then came the office Christmas party. Don’t worry; nothing crazy happened; it was just a lunch at our main shop. But that was the day I decided to reveal myself a little more. I wore a women’s sweater (very nondescript; only the length really gendered it), subtle makeup, and a fluffy purple Santa hat. By this time, I had told several women at our head office, who accepted me as one of the girls. The only thing remotely resembling broadcasting my identity was when we got our jackets. (The company is generous at Christmas.) We had previously ordered our sizes, but when I got to the front of the line, and a coworker went down the row of tables to find my size, I called out, “No! It’s a women’s extra-large!” I have a loud voice, but it was a pretty loud space, so that only brought me out to a few more people.

During Christmas holidays, I thought more about who knew, who didn’t know, and how certain people might take the news. I decided to rip the band-aid all the way off. On January 1, I drafted an email explaining my identity and encouraging people to ask questions. I signed it with my new name. I even put a FAQ page on my blog. On the morning of January 2, I logged into my computer, copy-pasted my email, and hit Send before I could lose my nerve. 

I got four replies, congratulating me, wishing me well, saying I was brave. And that was it. Everything went back to normal. 

Since then, I’ve changed my daily work wear to mostly women’s shirts. As my hormones worked their magic, I started wearing a bra. This spring, I started wearing a wig because my lifelong hair dysphoria had become too much for me. With staffing changes, about half the shop employees have only known me as Violet. Other than that, nothing has changed… 

… except for the fact that, for the first time in my life, I’m genuinely happy.

Violet

My Girlfriend Told Me

You get shoved in enough lockers, had names and spit wads thrown at you. I already knew.

She said “You will be old, grey and alone!” I’d have to get married, have kids. Be safe. The safe part I got. Neighbors, farm boys, felt that way about each other. Their families found out. They both ended up killing themselves.

Another girl wouldn’t walk Grad with me “Where’s your tux?” Her daddy bought her dress. I paid for my new suit. I walked the runway by myself. She refused to. Down the auditorium I went out the front door. Skipping Prom, I went to the club. That night I had a boyfriend. Next morning his mother looked at me. Nice clothes, car parked behind the house. She asked, “You have a job?” I learned to get along with mom. Later Moms. We broke up by Halloween.

I had other friends in the city by then. When I finally moved out of the house Dad said “Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t embarrass the family.” Yes Sir!

Double life. Making it work, a shift at the bar on the eve, home the next day, family gathering. Take flowers with you when you visit Grandma. Once she brought out the checkbook “I will pay for Seminary college” I’m sorry Ma’am I haven’t heard the calling. That book closed and we never discussed it again.

I was pretty, naive, I was popular. Lucky! During the AIDS crisis I went to 13 funerals in one year. At one the Priest called down from the pulpit “He is going to Hell!” The mother collapsed in the pew from shock and grief. I can still hear my friend next to me under his breath”Good god.”

Got another boyfriend this time leave the province. You Know? Wherever you go there you are.

I’ve had time since to think about it. Older, yes. Greying, naturally. Alone by choice or by chance? Lucky, certainly, to have a family to come home to. They do too. We don’t talk about it or I didn’t?

Mark Neiman

A world I dreamed of entering

Back in the early-90s when I was about 18 or 19, I remember knowing about The Roost and wanting so badly to try it out. I was not yet out and did not know anybody who was gay, let alone had gone to a gay bar.

I would spend several nights driving past the bar and parking across the street just watching the people going in and out trying to muster up the courage to go in myself. After weeks of doing this I finally forced myself to walk through that mysterious red door. I was greeted by a guy in the little entrance window in between the two doors. “Hi, how are you? Are you a member?”, panicked and rapidly flushed in the face I stammered out, “No, no, sorry” and quickly turned around and headed back out the door with my heart racing.

“Wait, wait”, he said, ” all you need to do is pay a cover and you can get a membership for the year.” “Oh, umm, ok.” After getting my card and being an official member of The Roost, I walked through that second door and into a world I had spent so many years just daydreaming of. My heart still quickens every time I think about that night

Dare Domo

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